


No shit, Sherlock

by anammox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Dean is a Little Shit, Fluff, Men of Letters Bunker, Oblivious Sam, mostly - Freeform, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anammox/pseuds/anammox
Summary: In which Sam is the oblivious one, and Dean enjoys himself tremendously.Set in a slightly alternate season 12 where the dust has settled (spoilers through season 10)





	

It’s a day much like any other when Sam decides that enough is enough. He’s sitting in the kitchen, sipping his morning coffee and looking for a new case when his brother walks in, a sappy half smile on his face as he hangs up the phone.

“Morning,” Sam says, expecting the smile to melt away once Dean realizes he’s not alone. Instead, he gets a cheery “hey” and a question about whether he’s eaten yet. The explanation comes shortly after, while Dean is at the stove, frying up a batch of eggs and bacon.

“So Cas called,” he says, good mood still evident in his tone, even if his face has morphed into a slightly more neutral expression. “He’s been heading our way, was ‘bout a half hour out when I talked to him.”

Sam nods, looking at his brother. “Does he need anything or…?” He lets the question hang there for a moment before Dean shrugs.

“Nah, he said he just wanted to come hang out for a few days,” Dean says as he shovels the food onto their plates. “He’s been running himself into the ground, trying to smooth things out with heaven.”

They eat in companionable silence for a while, Dean occasionally looking at his phone with a softness in his eyes that Sam at this point knows is reserved for Cas – sometimes typing out a reply to whatever the angel said. He’s been living with this for years, all those lingering, meaningful looks, never seeming to lessen in intensity, never seeming to lead to anything more. It’s frankly stifling, and he’s had enough.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Sam looks pointedly across the table. “Dean,” he says, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?” his brother says, gaze snapping to attention and phone seemingly forgotten.

_Just pull off the band-aid,_ Sam thinks, before he takes a deep breath and does just that.

“I think Cas is in love with you,” he blurts.

For a second Dean just looks at him, like the statement confuses him, and then does something completely unexpected.

He laughs. And not in a forced ‘ _no, of course not Sam, don’t be stupid’_ kind of way, a real, full-body laugh.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he says, once his chuckles die down.

 To say that Sam is baffled would be a rather large understatement at this point.

“You knew?” he sputters, accusation in his voice.

“Well yeah, kinda hard to miss,” Dean says casually. His body language is still entirely relaxed, seemingly unaffected by the touchy-feely turn the conversation was taking.

Sam studies him for a long moment, but his brother just looks back at him calmly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I think you’re in love with him too,” Sam tells him, and then braces himself for the reaction.

Again, it doesn’t play out like Sam thinks it will.

Dean snorts at him, rolling his eyes as he reaches for his coffee mug. “Again, congratulations Sam, you have functioning eyes.”

By now, Sam is pretty sure his mouth is hanging open as he stares across the table, unable to process exactly what is going on.

“What? No big gay freak-out?” he finally manages.

His brother just raises his eyebrows over his coffee. “About twenty years too late for that,” he says.

The confusion must be written plainly on his face, because Dean finally seems to take pity on him.

“I figured out I was bi back when I was still a teenager,” he admits, putting the mug back on the table.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asks, a hurt edge to his voice.

Dean just shrugs in his seat. “Didn’t think I needed to, I wasn’t exactly subtle,” he counters. “Figured you already knew, considering how I flirted with guys right in front of you.”

Sam frowns, trying to process this new information. He tries searching through his memories, but the only times he can remember Dean flirting with guys (Cas excluded) other than jokingly was for various cases. Somehow Sam had always thought the ease with which Dean flirted with just about anyone came from training – the thought that he actually _knew what he was doing because of personal experience_ never even crossed his mind.

“I literally taught Charlie how to flirt with a guy in front of you, and you didn’t think twice about it,” Dean shakes his head, but that small, amused smile is back in place.

They exchange a glance – and the tension seems to break – because they both huff out a laugh at the same time.

His brother is still grinning when he picks up his phone and starts twirling it around in his hand. “So, before we got off topic there, you were going to tell me to get my head outta my ass and have the feelings-talk with Cas, right?” he asks.

“Well, I mean yeah –“ Sam starts, but is quickly interrupted by Dean’s triumphant fist in the air and an apparently celebratory “Yes!” escaping his lips. He starts tapping away on his phone, looking smug.

“What are you doing?” Sam thinks he might get a headache soon from all of this frowning.

“Cashing in on a bet,” Dean answers absentmindedly, eyes never leaving the screen.

When Dean puts his phone back on the table, Sam is pretty sure he’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m so confused right now, I don’t even know what questions to ask,” he finally mutters.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Dean says, picking his coffee back up, and then – “See, me and Cas? We’ve been a thing for years,” he states seriously, and _holy shit, he’s kidding right?_ But his brother is looking at him with a barely contained cocky smirk, obviously enjoying the show of Sam trying to voice anything coherent, and failing quite spectacularly.

The phone on the table buzzes loudly, and after a glance at it, Dean looks him right in the eye and says in his best big brother voice “Cas is very disappointed in you,” the smirk falls right back into place. “He was _so sure_ you couldn’t possibly be that blind.”

The wheels in Sam’s head are working overtime, but finally at least two of the puzzle pieces seem to fit together. “ _That’s what the bet was about?_ ” he demands, “whether or not I knew you were a thing without anyone telling me anything?”

Doing a very poor job of looking apologetic, Dean shrugs. “If it helps, no one besides me and Charlie actually bet against you,” he says, and his shoulders droop just a little at the mention of their friend, no longer around to reap her reward.

“Hang on – how many people are actually in on this bet?” Sam thinks he might not want to know the answer to this.

“Uh, started off with just me and Cas, but then Charlie wanted in, and then Jody, and Crowley,” he trails off, obviously running through a list in his head, “Oh yeah, Claire jumped on it pretty fast.” Dean proceeds to count them all off on his fingers, and then nods to himself.

Taking a long breath, Sam looks back at his brother – still not really sure this isn’t all some elaborate joke. If Dean and Cas really have been a thing for years, _years_ for crying out loud – he would have noticed, wouldn’t he? Their dynamic, as far as Sam could tell, never reached some kind of turning point that would indicate a shift in their relationship. Nothing except –

“Oh shit,” Sam blurts. “Purgatory?”

Dean seems to take a moment to contemplate before answering. “Yes and no,” he finally says. Which doesn’t make a lick of sense, but thankfully, he continues to elaborate.

“Purgatory is where it all started I guess – I mean, I ripped that place apart looking for him, and then when I found him, I was so relieved that apparently my brain short circuited and hugging him turned into kissing him, but that was mostly it. And then he got out, and brainwashed, and then he freaking disappeared, and then there were the trials and the fall, and suddenly he was human, and then there was the war on Metatron and the Mark, and then I was a demon, and just –“

He stops to take a breath, and gather his thoughts it seems. “Things were in that weird in-between-place where we didn’t really have any idea what was going on most of the time, and by the time we actually figured it out, it just seemed so impossible for you to not already know. We figured you were just giving us space to figure things out.”

Lifting his mug, and finding it mostly empty, Dean pushes his chair back and makes his way to the coffee machine, pouring himself more. Turning back around, he pins Sam with a look.

“But then, when you still didn’t say anything, I started to wonder,” he sits back down at the table and looks at Sam, amusement now shining in his eyes once again. “Cas said there was no way, that it was obvious – and to everyone else, it was. We’ve never had to tell a living soul, they just knew – but you, you never acknowledged anything, so, we made a bet.” Taking a gulp of his new coffee, Dean smirks. “And now, more than two years later, I win.”

_More than two years._ How could his brother and the angel have possibly been a full-blown-couple for that long without Sam noticing? Never finding them curled up in each other, never an incriminating sound to be heard. To be fair, perhaps he should have given it more thought that Cas spent his nights in Dean’s room and not his own most of his time in the bunker, but the angel’s tendency to watch his brother sleep wasn’t anything that started just a few years ago. He’d always done that. Just like the invasion of personal space, Dean had seemingly just accepted it at some point.

For all of the less mortifying things he could have said, what slips out of Sam’s mouth is, “But I’ve never heard a single sound from your bedroom when he’s here. Ever.”

Nearly chocking, Dean doubles over, _wheezing_ with laughter. A blush steadily rises up Sam’s neck, even if the point is perfectly valid. Considering April, he knows Cas isn’t adverse to the idea – and Sam knows his brother. There is no way he shouldn’t be thoroughly scarred by now.

By the time Dean is able to breathe again, he’s wiping tears from his eyes. “Holy crap, Sam – way to beat around the bush,” he says, voice shaking slightly. He takes a deep breath to collect himself, and then the mother of all shit-eating grins takes over his face. “My room may or may not have enochian soundproofing,” he tells him. “Second the door locks, sound stays trapped inside.”

Sam seems to have run out of shock, because his only reaction to this is a surprisingly dry, “How considerate of you.”

Dean studies him for a moment, then shrugs. “Hey, don’t thank me – thank the goddamn noisy angel that figured painting my entire room with a bunch of invisible sigils was easier than keeping it down.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and _wow_ that was not something Sam wanted to know about their friend.

A loud clang sounds throughout the bunker, signaling the arrival of the aforementioned angel, who moments later appears n the kitchen doorway.

“Hey Cas,” Dean smiles at him over Sam’s shoulder as he steps into the kitchen, headed straight for the coffee. With a cup firmly in hand, the tension in the angels shoulders seems to melt away, and he pins Sam with a withering look from where he’s leaning against the counter.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Sam,” he says seriously.

Before Sam has a chance to react, Dean is snickering, and just like that, Cas’ gaze lands on him softly and he even smiles a little. They look at each other for a moment, but not long enough for it to be uncomfortable.

“I was just telling Sam about the soundproofing,” Dean tells him conversationally. The angel frowns at his coffee. “Why?” is all he says.

“Well, Sam said he’d never heard a single sound from my bedroom when you were here, ever.” His brother looks expectantly at Cas, who quirks an eyebrow. “Really?” he questions. “Not even..?” the question trails off, but Dean apparently knows the end of that sentence, because he looks tremendously pleased with himself. “Nope,” he says, popping the p loudly.

“In that case, the warding is more powerful than I thought,” Cas says thoughtfully. Dean just hums in agreement.

And okay, so maybe they are talking about some form of sex like it’s just a normal conversation to have in front of your little brother, but other than that there really isn’t anything at all that screams ‘couple’ to Sam. The distance between them is more than respectable, and Cas hadn’t even properly greeted either of them when he entered the room.

“I can practically hear you thinking, Sam. Again,” Dean admonishes.

“I actually _can_ ,” Cas adds. “it’s like indirect prayer – you’re thinking so hard about us that I can pick it up,” he explains.

Dean looks at the angel, clearly expecting him to elaborate instead of Sam. “It’s just, you don’t act couple-y, like at all,” Sam pipes up, before Cas starts dissecting his thought process.

“Dean doesn’t like public displays of affection,” Cas says simply.

Sam can’t help it. He snorts. “I’ve seen you do some pretty questionable things in public, Dean,” he tells his brother.

“Oh, I don't doubt it,” Dean replies. “But those things had nothing to do with affection.”

Sam considers for a moment. “I guess that makes sense, in a sort of weird backwards kind of way. But dude, since when did you start counting the bunker as public space?” He says.

Rolling his eyes, and letting out a long-suffering sigh, Dean gets to his feet and strides purposefully towards Cas. Setting one hand on the counter on either side of the angel, he leans forward, grinning devilishly.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks him, expression neutral.

“ _We_ are going to make my brother so uncomfortable he shuts up and never gives us shit about not acting couple-y ever again,” Dean informs him.

“So I should probably put my coffee down first?” The angel indicates the mug still held in his hands.

“Probably.” Dean laughs at him as Cas takes a sip before setting the mug aside on the counter.

“Are you done?” Dean asks in feign-annoyance. Cas just smiles at him as his hands slip inside Dean’s open button-down.

“Good,” Dean says, grinning back at him as he closes the gap between them.

Even with years of preparation for the inevitable moment when he would see his brother kissing his angel, Sam doesn’t think he’d ever expect it to go down quite like this. Hungry, desperate, short and chaste - Sam had really expected a number of varieties.

Dean having advertised this as ‘uncomfortable’ for Sam, he expects loud, sloppy and filthy. He would have been able to sit through that – had seen it a hundred times before. He was immune to that. What he gets, however? Not so much.

The moment their lips touch, Cas seems to melt into his brother. Movements perfectly synchronized, they kiss slow and lovingly, and so agonizingly intimately that Sam has to divert his eyes. It's as if the world has completely disappeared, and they are the only ones left.

It takes Sam all of 30 seconds to get up and head out of the kitchen.

“Hey, you asked for this!” Dean calls after him, apparently still actually paying attention to his surroundings after all.

“Oh, shut up,” Sam grumbles back.

Dean’s laugh follows him all the way back to his room.


End file.
